


Trust Issue

by titC



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Chloe likes hot rods but finds Lucifer’s (car ;-) a bit ridiculous, Chloe sort of quotes Yoda during sex, F/M, Gen, I can’t do uncomplicated apparently, Lucifer is not his usual cocky self HAHAHAHA sorry, Lucifer whump, Lucifer’s eyes are like disco balls, and Chloe is the queen of horrible puns at Lucifer’s expense the poor dear, and since I’m me it took 5K words to get to vaguely sexytimes, at least she's thinking it, but also porny, but at least this story has a good character survival count, tried to do cracky and porny and ended up being crangsty again, yet another attempt at writing uncomplicated sexytimes, yet another failure, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8299544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Lucifer hates telling all the truth.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skaoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaoi/gifts), [BecomeMyObsession](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecomeMyObsession/gifts).



> Used two prompts, but didn't do them justice...  
> Posting this because won't be able to tweak it properly in the next few days an then it will just end up languishing on my hard drive while I flail about new canon, so... here it is. I hate this title but I don't have time to find a better one, sadly.  
> It was supposed to be funny, hence the cracky premise... but me being me it ended up being all about paiiiin. And a couple bad puns.

Her phone was vibrating. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. It wouldn’t stop. Chloe opened her eyes and looked at the time: 5.30. No point in going back to sleep then. She checked the messages – of course, it was him.

“Lucifer,” she rasped.

“Oh, nice bedroom voice you’ve got here.” He was smiling, she could hear it. Probably a smug, satisfied smile; and given the hour and his texts he was probably naked in bed, or maybe wearing that ridiculous black silk number. How he could go to bed so late after his club closed and still be there in the mornings if she called him on a case, really baffled her.

“Did you really have to wake me up? To tell me about…” She looked back at his texts. “Ginger messing up your bedsheets?”

“But Detective, for such a tiny thing she is hogging all the bed! I need your advice!”

“…and what kind of advice could I give you, then?” She yawned.

“Well, you humans are used to this, I think.”

“I thought _you_ would be, what with all the people who’ve ended up in your bed.”

“Ginger is different!”

“I guess she’s ginger, to start with.” She stretched and mentally prepared for leaving her bed. “Thought you didn’t like gingers, by the way.” A high-pitched whine came through the phone.

“Yes, dear, you’ll get fed soon, I’ll take care of you. Just don’t – nope, no peeing on the bed.” Oh god, what kind of weird kink fetish thing was he doing right now while on the phone with her? She heard the sound of rustling fabric, hurried steps getting fainter, then a faint “good girl” as if from away from the phone. Then footsteps again, and as she was pondering whether to reheat leftover coffee or make a new batch his voice came back in her ear.

“There, I think I’ll have a bit of quiet now. Thank you, Detective.”

“Thank me for what?” Fresh coffee. Definitely fresh coffee. _And_ she’d finish the old one while she waited. “You know what? You woke me up way too early. You deserve… punishment.” Hah. Take that, mister devil.

“Oooh.” She could just see him, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – oh my god, no. No. Brain bleach.

But still, revenge. “Can you collect Trixie from school today?”

“What, no new case for us?”

“Today it’s all paperwork, meetings, and a training seminar in the afternoon, so, nope. But Dan will be stuck at the precinct too and, um.”

“Baby-sitters are expensive?” Yes, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“So. Will you?” Can I trust you? She thought. Will you be there on time, will you _not_ feed her cake, will you see to it she does her homework? Will you drive carefully and make her wear the seatbelt and collect any papers the school might give you?

“Ah, well. If it makes you happy, of course I will. Just text me the time, I remember the place.” He’d caved in suspiciously quickly, but then again she thought he wasn’t as immune to Trixie as he pretended to be. He’d certainly see to it she was happy and safe, anyway.

“Do that, and I’ll forgive you for waking me up.”

“You… forgive me?” She pretended she hadn’t heard him and ended the call. She really, really wasn’t ready for a dose of Morningstar angst right now, she’d just snap at him and he’d come bother her at the precinct and make puppy eyes and try to tell him yet more tall tales about his family, and, no. Or maybe he’d seen nothing wrong in calling her at an hour when most law-abiding citizens were sleeping… Ugh. Too early to think about anything. Coffee.

 

The day went by quickly enough – shower, paying some bills since she was up _so_ early this morning, getting Trixie ready for school, work. And then, driving to Lux to pick her up. She braced herself – knowing them, anything was possible. Chocolate cake and dolls and hopefully no alcohol; she’d even sent him a text to remind him of that fact, just in case.

Well. There might have been too much sugar in the afternoon given the shrieks she heard coming from… his bedroom?

“No, Ginger, nooo!” Her daughter, in Lucifer’s bedroom, with Lucifer’s squeeze from this morning, laughing like a loon. Nope, not worrying at all. What had she been thinking, asking him to collect her?

And then a small, reddish dog ran into her legs and started pawing at her jeans.

“Ah, Detective, I see you’ve met Ginger.”

“Ginger.”

“Yes, well. I didn’t choose the name.”

“When you called me, it was about… a dog.”

“Well yes, what did you think I was talking about?” His eyebrows raised as she felt her cheeks heat. “…really?”

He was probably about to make yet another ridiculous comment, but Trixie caught her wrist. “Mommy, can we keep her?”

“What?”

“Can we keep the puppy?”

“Well no, Trix, it’s Lucifer’s dog.”

“It’s not. I found her looking all piteous and alone under my car yesterday.”

“And you brought it up here?”

“Of course not. I took her to a vet and got her, ah, shot? Sounded painful. And chipped and checked and all those things I was told to do, whatever they mean. The secretary chose the name.”

“You… rescued a puppy.”

“She was under my car!”

“You could, I don’t know. Have left it to a shelter?” His eyes darkened for a second, and she suddenly wanted to un-say her words. Suggesting he abandon a baby dog might not be the best idea ever. “Oh, I know. That’s why you were so eager to pick up Trix from school, right?” He might have looked a bit guilty at that. “Why didn’t you ask me before? Now she’s going to be insufferable,” she said as they looked at the girl and the dog chasing each other around the table and over the sofa and under the piano.

“But… don’t you want a dog? I thought everybody liked dogs.”

“I do like dogs, but I can’t take care of it. I’m not at home often enough to do that properly.”

“Oh.” He turned back to her. “I can get you a dog-sitter, though.”

“I don’t want to – ”

“And I’ll pay for the visits to the vet. And the food!”

“Why don’t you keep it, then?”

“She’d pee on my sofa.”

“But mine’s fair game?”

“It’s not genuine leather.”

“Lucifer – ”

“And I thought the little human would like Ginger.”

“Which would be convenient for you, too.” Chloe watched her baby girl and the pup, all caught up in a staring contest. “Did you want a dog, when you were a boy?”

“We had all the pets we wanted.”

“So you know how to take care of one little dog.”

“Not really. At the time, all of my father’s creation was self-reliant.”

Ah, yes. The devil thing again. “You’re trying to force my hand. This is not very nice of you.”

“Do you want me to write you a contract for the dog-sitter and vet?”

He’d pester her until she said yes. Her daughter would pester her until she said yes. And, to be honest… she’d wanted a dog when she’d been Trixie’s age. “I trust your word. But you should have asked me before.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“We’ll… give it a try. If you hold up your end of the bargain. Hopefully Trixie won’t take out its eye like she did the doll’s.”

Lucifer looked absolutely appalled. “I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea, now.”

“Ah, well. Should have thought of that before. Hey, monkey. We’re keeping it for a few weeks to help Lucifer. How’s that?”

“It’s a she, Detective.”

“It’s a dog.”

“A _she_. And I do hope you won’t abandon _her_ after a few weeks.”

But his voice was drowned by her daughter’s happy laughter, and Chloe forgot all about his words as she juggled the dog bed, bowls and toys and Lucifer carried the food bags to her car, while Trixie was skipping merrily along and holding the leash.

And that’s how the Decker household by the ocean got a new family member.

 

True to his word, Lucifer arranged for a professional dog-sitter and trainer to come everyday and take the dog out, teach it – her – to obey simple commands, and not pee in the house. They, could, apparently, even train dogs to use a litter box, and that was a relief. In, ah. Several ways.

She’d been charmed when Lucifer had asked a bit awkwardly about Ginger, and when he’d eagerly looked at her photos of Trixie and the dog playing on the beach. “So you’re not abandoning her, right?” he’d said, and she’d thought there had been some genuine fear that she still might, lurking there in his eyes.

“Nah, Trix likes her too much. She’s actually quite responsible with the dog, too, so. I guess it was a good idea.” She elbowed him. “You’re getting better at this kid thing. Better than with the doll, at least.” He beamed at her, with that little bounce on the balls of his feet that meant he was so pleased with himself, and it made her suspicious all of a sudden. “You didn’t actually find her under your car, right?”

“I did. You know I won’t lie to you.” He frowned a bit. “But. Ah. Er.”

“…Lucifer?”

“She’d escaped the breeder’s grounds to hide under my car. I felt… a kinship. That kennel _was_ hellish.”

“Don’t tell me you empathized with a dog.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.” He grinned, and she tried not to laugh out loud. He looked so proud and happy of his little joke.

“And what were you doing at a kennel?”

“I wanted to get Maze a cat, and, well, I didn’t.”

“A cat. Maze.”

“You know. So she’d had something to come back to.”

“You mean you wanted to manipulate her into not going away for too long. With a cat.”

“When you put it like that…”

“Or, you could tell her you miss her.” Oooh, his face. Priceless.

 

These days, Lucifer asked before coming to her house. Well, sometimes he only knocked; but at least he didn’t come in as if he owned the place. He still was pretty handy with locks though, as he’d demonstrated on a few cases; but at least not on _her_ lock anymore. Progress, she thought. She’d even gotten him to stop bringing chocolate cake for breakfast when he came by, on those rare mornings they didn’t go to the precinct before going on an interview or doing some other kind of _detectiving_ , as he’d call it with glee. Well, Trixie didn’t see it as progress, but. It _was_. She still got cake when he materialized on her doorstep in the afternoons or evenings anyway. It wasn’t that often, right?

She suspected it had something to do with the dog. Maybe he considered he had visiting rights? Watching him with Ginger was always hilarious – he’d ditch his shoes and jacket, roll up his sleeves and sneak outside on the beach when Chloe pretended she wasn’t looking; and he’d throw the dog sticks and whistle and call her “good girl” and let her jump and wipe her paws on his trousers. They were still mostly pristine when he came back inside, his cheeks flushed and a spark in his eyes she didn’t think she’d seen that often – genuinely happy and sincere and artless. She quickly understood why he didn’t much care about his clothes, though – when he deemed them unsuitable for investigation, he’d get another suit out of his trunk and change before they left. “My own kind of first aid kit,” he’d called it once. There was also some pricey bath and shower stuff in there, as he’d demonstrated on the day he’d dived into the ocean to get Ginger’s favourite toy back.

He’d seemed more at ease with her daughter too, as she often joined them outside to play. She knew Dan didn’t approve of Lucifer and Maze friending their girl, but… well. He’d have to suck it up. Their ideas of what was good parenting might be weird – she still hadn’t gotten over Maze pouring alcohol for Trixie – but at least she was pretty sure they’d never let her come to harm (now that the alcohol thing had been made very, _very_ clear). Or forget to pick her up from school (hah, take that, Dan). So that was something. Not nothing, at least. Dan loved Trix, but… Ah, well. They all did their best.

At least when Lucifer and her little monkey were outside, she had the house for herself for a couple hours; sometimes more when she asked him to take her to a movie. After a few times, because Trixie couldn’t keep it a secret any longer, she learned the truth: there was no movie involved in their movie nights. He’d say, “certainly, Detective” and then drive her to Disneyland. She didn’t want to know the details, really – her baby girl always came back peacefully asleep in his arms and he looked so proud of himself and Trixie had the biggest grin the next morning; and… it was enough.

After her confession, she showed Chloe a little suitcase under her bed with tickets and hoodies and autographs and a Mulan costume. She didn’t have the heart to put her foot down. She did make a deal with Trix never to talk about it with her father, though. He’d have a fit.

 

More worrying, was her own reaction to all of this. She knew she had a soft spot for him – because honestly, she had to have one given the way he behaved sometimes – and she was quite sure it was a bit bigger than a spot now. He’d dialled down the innuendos, had become that weird but good friend in her life, and took her child to Disneyland so she could have a long soak, order pad thai, paint her toenails and binge-watch Buffy in peace. What more could she ask? He was clearly over his infatuation. Damn. Damn damn damn.

She didn’t regret not jumping into bed right away with him because they wouldn’t be where they were now if she had, and it was a good place; and really… when they’d first met, he’d really, really been insufferable. But then, she’s got to know him a bit better, Lucifer-ness and all. And now, now that Dan had mostly stopped with inappropriate comments because he’d forgotten they were divorced and she _knew_ she’d never get back with him even for Trixie’s sake (and anyway she totally rooted for Lucifer, the little traitor)… Now, she sort of wanted him. Just a bit. Maybe. Sometimes.

Well. Not that she didn’t want to wipe that smirk off of his face sometimes. Or that she thought he was good boyfriend material. Or that he’d make a good extra parenting figure for Trixie. Although he did some things more reliably than Dan, and threw money at things he didn’t want to deal with, and – nope. Nope. Not going there.

She jumped when a coffee appeared on a desk and _someone_ said, “penny for your thoughts, Detective?”

“You startled me!”

“That I did.”

“I could have, uh. Punched you! Or, er, knocked that coffee all over my files!”

“But you didn’t. Why are you looking so… flustered?”

“I am not. What you said.” She thumped a file in his empty hands. “There, new case.”

“Yes ma’am.” He slid to the other side of her desk to settle into the chair and started idly going through it. “How’s the spawn?”

“She’s fine. Nothing’s changed since you came on Sunday.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“No, nothing.”

“What are you plotting?”

“Detective, I am not _plotting_ anything evil and nefarious. However, this killer probably is.”

And once again, his weird understanding of human nature pushed him into some crazy hijinks and yet led them to rather quick results – notwithstanding his breaking and entering a private house, voodoo-ing innocent citizens and scaring the bejeezus, or maybe the Beelzebub, out of their perp. He did have an uncanny ability to make people scream and grovel and whimper as soon as she wasn’t looking at him directly.

“We should celebrate,” he said as she was filing some documents and making him sign some papers. “Come to Lux tonight, relax. Let your hair down.”

“My hair’s fine.”

“It is, but still. Come for a few drinks, enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not dressed for it.”

“Pish posh. Go back home, change, and I’ll send a cab your way.”

“But…”

“No buts. You said your child was with sir Douche this evening, and the dog can survive one evening without you. It’ll do you some good. It’s Friday night! Don’t be such an old young person. Be ready at 9!”

And with that he sauntered away and left her feeling like a teen just before prom. She just hated him. Not.

 

When the car came, though, it wasn’t a cab. It was Lucifer himself, in his little Corvette that looked like a child’s toy car from the back – not that she’d ever tell him that, of course. She could already picture him pouting. Anyhow, it was a nice car – from other angles. She raised her eyebrows at him when she opened the door.

“I was expecting a taxi.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Well, no; just surprised. Thought you’d have better things to do.”

“I do have better things to do than sending someone for you and waiting. Driving you is much better. Now get those shoes on and get in, Detective, so you can get to some dancing and drinking and I to some playing and singing.”

“Not planning on dancing and drinking yourself?” Chloe asked as she slipped a foot in a sandal.

He only grinned and winked and opened the car door for her, and she tried to ignore how fast he drove through the neon-lit streets and between cars and all the while, all the while glancing at her and smiling and weaving between cars and his fingers drumming on the wheel, drumming on the gear-shift to the classic rock music he played on his very modern stereo. He threw the key to Lux’s valet and led her to a high stool, waving at a young man with a bun who immediately materialized from one end of the bar to her seat to take her order. When she turned her head he’d already disappeared.

“Wasn’t expecting you here,” a voice she thought she recognized said. Chloe looked to her left and saw Doctor Linda there, cocktail in hand and hair loose on her shoulders. “How are you?”

“Oh, er. Fine. You?”

“Well, pretty good.” Linda winked at the bartender and – oh my god – he winked back.

“I… can see that.”

“Yes, I’m banging my patient’s employee. If it’s what you’re wondering about.”

Chloe felt like hiding under her stool. “Well, ah. Good for you.”

Linda laughed. “Even therapists need some good times. What about you?”

“Oh, well, you know. Work, and my daughter. Not a lot of time.”

“You really should take some time just for yourself. I’m sure you’re only here because Lucifer dragged you, am I wrong?”

No, she wasn’t. But, well – she’d pampered herself, she was sipping some strange but wonderful concoction that was mellowing her fast, she felt good and pretty and without any pressure to hurry back home to Trixie, so… “no, you’re not wrong. But I needed it, and if he hadn’t I’d probably still be home, so. I guess it was a good call.”

“Yes it was.” She clinked her glass against Chloe’s and they turned around to watch people dancing and grinding and swaying.

“Going to dance?”

“Hm, considering it. Maybe later after a few more drinks.”

“Yeah, I definitely need some more at least before going out there. Not feeling up to their standards,” Chloe said waving at all the young and beautiful in the middle of the club.

“What standards?”

“I don’t know. Barely legal, carefree and fresh-faced, maybe?”

“Are you dancing for yourself or for someone? Who should care?” Linda downed the pinkish dregs at the bottom of her glass and got a new one from her… boyfriend, apparently. He even took her hand and kissed her palm and gave her a soft smile, and Chloe felt a little jealous. She missed this, this familiarity, the touching, the comfort you could find even in a short little fling never meant to last. The bartender bent over and whispered something in Linda’s ear and she blushed and laughed and swatted at him. Envy. Envy was a sin, she remembered.

Dan and her, they’d had some good times, but it was over now; and she felt too old, too… jaded, maybe, to go back to the dating scene. She had a daughter. She was divorced. She was a cop. It all felt like it was for other people, like it had been another life. Ah, why so maudlin? she thought. Why not go out and meet people? Well, she knew why, and he was standing there looking over the crowd and chatting with Maze and waving at her… she hadn’t really wanted to make time for dating, because who else could make her feel so much? Annoyance and sadness, exasperation and surprise, anger and joy and compassion and relief. He made her feel desirable and relieved and perfect and imperfect; he mocked her and leered at her and ignored her and then came in and cooked breakfast. He groused a lot but still picked Trixie up from school if she asked, was a real marshmallow about the dog and insisted he was the devil and also pushed her into things she wouldn’t have done otherwise. He was the little bit of madness she needed, and she probably was the huge slice of reality he lacked. She wondered if it made their relationship particularly healthy or unhealthy, really – with its ups and downs, though nothing could ever be perfect, presumably.

And also, he was rather good-looking, and let’s be honest – she’d always liked handsome guys. I mean, she wasn’t too bad herself even if she sometimes forgot it; right? Right? She deserved meaningless fun too. She _did_.

So she put her glass on the bar – well, slammed it, really; she was already a bit tipsy – and stalked to the dance floor and started swaying and bobbing and waving and running her hands through her hair, and soon she was rubbing against strangers; her hand on a chest, fingers on her lower back. Someone behind her tried to kiss her neck but she turned at the last moment, grinned and sashayed back and he followed eagerly. Regular, strong features and flattering haircut and nice smile and she could see his pecs straining a bit against his tight shirt. She smiled at him and wondered if she could do it, if he could take her mind off of her life and of Lucifer who really, really shouldn’t be taking so much room in her life. Probably.

But then she stumbled against something and strong hands caught her waist and lifted her and dropped her on the piano bench, and she bent her head back and saw Lucifer smirking down at her. Chiselled jaw guy had disappeared back in the crowd when she dropped her eyes back to the dancers, and soon enough a glass of water appeared on the piano top in front of her. Mazikeen rested an elbow next to it. “How can one drink have that much effect on you?”

“Hadn’t seen the step.”

“Hm. And that guy you were eyeing isn’t worth it in bed, trust me.”

“Thanks for the tip. And the water.”

“Yes, well. It’s about time for Lucifer’s set and you’re hogging the bench. And you just ruined his entrance.”

“Ah. Right.” Chloe tried to ignore all the people looking at her, expecting a show maybe – seducing him while he played? Hah. She’d seen some try that a few times, and it was always a bit over the top, a bit ridiculous, a bit too showy. He certainly enjoyed being the center of attention, but then again that wasn’t the Lucifer she was most comfortable with. So she stood up and tried to look dignified and classy as she walked away. Maze took her arm in an iron grip and led her up some stairs to an alcove where Linda was sipping yet another cocktail – wow, therapists sure could hold their liquor.

“That’s our little chatty catty corner.”

“Doctors have… chatty catty corners?”

Maze sat opposite Linda. “She chats. I’m the catty one.”

“How am I expected to contribute?”

Chloe never got her answer, because then the lights changed and Lucifer started playing. It was always a bit abrupt, the thumping music fading out, the piano being suddenly in the spotlight… Down here, he usually played energetic songs, songs about having fun and defying everyone and everything up to god himself; he played fast-paced and loud and fun music and never had the clubbers complained. Some still danced, some tried to sing with him, some tried to get closer… sometimes, he’d play a softer song and couples would start swaying on the dance floor; and sometimes, he wouldn’t sing and only play – fast and loud, staccato and fortissimo and always with fervor. And they all loved him.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and she spotted chiselled jaw guy surrounded by new friends. Her eyes went from him to the piano, and really, there was no contest. She felt Mazikeen and Linda’s eyes on her, watching her watching him.

And she thought, why not.

 

Chloe had been quite surprised the first time she’d seen his library. So many books, some quite old, and in so many languages. There were also some filled with photographs of ancient tablets or paintings, and she wondered if he read them like books, too. All these rows upon rows of books, and they even looked like they’d been read too – broken spines, bits of paper peeking out from the pages, their alignment not perfect, always different ones stacked next to the armchair. She was pretty sure this one was written in a dead language. And this one – was he reading about law now? She smiled.

“Maze told me you’d gone up,” he said from behind her.

“I needed a breather.”

“Do you want me to drive you back? Or… something else?” She missed his constant innuendos of their first few months as friends, and her past self would be quite surprised if when went back in time to tell herself _that_ … but it was true, strangely enough. She missed feeling desired. A random guy’s eyes on her were nice, but didn’t quite cut it.

“What kind of something else?” _His_ eyes, though. Warm brown and intense and right now fixed on her. It felt good. If he was still willing to sex her up, she’d do him right there and then.

“Oooh, Detective. Are you having naughty thoughts?” She rolled her eyes and walked to him. “I wasn’t expecting this.” And then she pushed him down on the butter-soft leather and his eyebrows raised as he crossed his legs. “What’s got into you?”

She could see he didn’t quite believe she was about to jump him, and really there was a very good way to wipe that smirk off his face. He dropped his foot back on the floor with a thump as she clambered on top of him and his warm warm hands curved around her bare shoulders, as if hesitating between tugging her closer and pushing her away. He had smooth lips, a nice contrast to the stubble and – “Detective,” he said. “You usually only jump me when you’re drunk.” His hands had finally decided on keeping her just far enough that she couldn’t kiss him anymore.

“I’m not drunk now.”

“Tipsy.”

“Not really.” Why talk now?

“But…”

“No buts.” Fingers slid down to her own butt and she kissed him again before he made the smartass joke she could see coming, and he didn’t stop her this time. “Unless you don’t want me,” she breathed against his mouth.

That seemed to spur him into action. “Of course I do. I thought I’d been clear enough, and quite often at that.” He slid her closer to him, spread her legs on either side of his, kissed her back like he really, really wanted to leave no doubt in her mind.

There were none.

Her knees were buried between expensive leather and the soft fabric of his pants, digging into the cushion and – oh, right there. She could feel him. Hot and straining already. She wiggled a bit and he caught his breath. “You’d stopped saying… things.”

He didn’t answer, but given the way he was holding her – like something precious but not so delicate that he couldn’t tug her hair, that he couldn’t bite her shoulder a little, that he couldn’t squeeze her thigh when she ran her nails on his chest… he hadn’t stopped saying them because they were not true anymore. A button, another, a third. She opened his shirt, and his hands slid under her dress; up, up they went until they brushed lace. He teased her, dipping under the fabric and kissing her shoulder, her neck, then back to her mouth, doing things with his tongue that were rather promising and – oh, but his fingers were good, too. Long pianist hands, she remembered, playing her and she was singing, inside. Vibrating. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of hearing her too soon though, she’d make him work for it.

He didn’t have the same plan, clearly – he was talking, mumbling things, strange words whenever his lips left her skin, and sometimes she suspected even while kissing her. At times she understood him - “so soft here,” he said once; and “oh – do that again” and “stay, stay.” And when she ground a bit harder on his thigh he snapped and stood up so quickly she felt light-headed for a few seconds. He towered over her again, heels or no heels, and he walked her back towards his bed, his hands never leaving her, guiding and stroking and never, never letting her forget what they were about to do.

As if she could – he was oozing desire and sex and lust and want right there in front of her, and inspiring it just as much in her. His shirt was undone and hanging from his shoulders, the cuffs opened and gaping and who knew his wrists would look so fine and delicate; she could see each step made the fabric of his pants rub against his cock and his breath hitched every time; his hair was all in disarray and his mouth red and a bit swollen. He bit his lower lip before bending down to grasp her legs and hitching her up against the wall, grinding and hiding his face in her neck. He made the tiniest whines when his hips went up, and she gently cradled his head with a hand and buried her nails in his trapezius. His hips stuttered and he stopped breathing for a second and the thought she’d driven him right there while still (mostly) wearing her dress was very, very flattering. But then she felt his lips stretch into a smile and he said, low and throaty, “nice try, Detective. Nice try.”

Oh, it was on. It was _so_ on.

“Not trying. Doing.” She gripped his waist even harder with her legs, twisted her pelvis against his. Gave a low low moan right in his ear.

“That’s it.” A hand under her and the other splayed over her back – he really had huge hands, she thought – he quickly turned around and in a few quick steps, too quick to give her time to protest, they were on the bed. He covered her; he was so much taller and larger – but, surprisingly enough, she didn’t feel overwhelmed. She didn’t feel his weight, he held himself up with a hand near her head; but he was like the ceiling of the littlest room where no one could intrude; like a warm, living blanket fort that kept at bay everything that was not them, there, at this very moment in time.

Her eyes in his, not letting him look away from her, she let her fingers skim down his chest, his stomach; and she could see him struggling to keep his eyes open as she started on his belt, his pants. He lost the battle when she grasped him, her grip firm and possessive. He almost fell on her, caught himself at the last moment, and she felt his nose against her scalp, his harsh breathing making the skin in her neck quiver. “I want you,” he said.

“Undress me then.” But she didn’t remove her hand, and he didn’t seem to want her to either. She did, eventually, when he sat on his knees and tugged her dress up and away. She pushed his own clothes down and away and she heard his shoes tumble to the floor, felt him twist back to remove his socks. He crawled down her body to breathe hot and humid over her panties, and she shuddered, sat up and braced an arm behind her and gripped his hand with hers. She made noises then – when he teased her, when he nibbled on the thin, sensitive skin at the top of her thighs. He slid her underwear down her legs – it was all wet. She was all wet.

And then he went at it in earnest and she let herself fall back on the mattress as he proceeded to make her forget all the other times anyone had ever gone down on her; his tongue everywhere, his nose just _right there_ , his lips on her lips and his hands stroking and kneading and opening her up even more for him, for his mouth. She was still wearing her sandals, and she ran a heel up his side; she could feel him pushing his hips down into the sheets and he moaned _just there_ , and she – she clamped his head between her legs and almost tore the pillow she’d been clutching and she moaned, too.

He went back up her body, taking his time, meandering and zigzagging from her hipbone to her little appendicitis scar to the crease between thigh and torso to her navel to just under her breast, with a detour to the inside of her elbow. When he finally, finally got back to her mouth, she was already feeling more that ready for the main course.

“What would you like?” He sounded wrecked, he sounded like he couldn’t take any more delaying – but he asked, still.

“Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“I didn’t know you had such a potty mouth.”

“I have a great mouth. But then again – ” she caught his head and pulled him down to kiss him hard “ – so do you.” Flattery probably worked on him, but it was the truth here. Good behavior should be rewarded, she thought. He rummaged into a drawer and got a condom on so fast she remembered he must have done it so very often. She covered his hand with hers as he finished rolling it down. “This is mine. Only mine.”

“Yes,” he said as she guided him into her. Slow, steady, and so so hard. So so hot. He pulled her thigh up to his waist and started moving, a hand running along her leg and alternating between mouthing her breasts and fucking her mouth with his tongue until she didn’t know what was him, what was her anymore. He sped up little by little, his chest rubbing against her as he looked into her eyes in the dim light still filtering from the library, and she squeezed around him just to make him falter, just because she could do that to him. And she did it again, and again, and again; and he went faster and then a bit faster still and this time when she felt her muscles clamp on him and her entire body seize, she didn’t control any of it.

When her mind came back online, he was still there inside her, still hard, still hot. Fine shudders were running through his muscles, like a purebred horse about to start a race and trying hard to keep still until the right moment. He bent until his lips brushed hers, and the small movement made her hiss. “Too soon, still?” he whispered.

“Just a minute.” She was amazed he was still ready to go, but then again he’d always bragged about his stamina. Apparently it was all quite true. He skimmed his fingers on her skin, circling her nipples and drawing spirals on her waist and, finally, lifting her knees over his shoulders.

“Flexible,” he said.

“Aren’t you surprised?” She felt very self-satisfied. Hah. What had he thought?

He might have answered, but then she twisted her hips a bit and he gave a little startled “oh” and started moving again. He curled above her and she wrapped her arms around his head and held him close to her while he moved; in and out, in and out. It felt like he was all over her, all around her, all inside her too; his hands trying to be everywhere at once, to touch and hold and never ever let go and his little sounds in her ear, muffled in her neck; and his body cradled in hers and then, and then.

She didn’t think she had ever lost consciousness because of sex before.

She’d missed him coming, missed him slipping out of her. He was panting at her side, sprawled on his stomach, face mashed in a pillow and one eye on her. She smiled at him and blew a strand of hair from her face. It fell right back on her eye, and he delicately pushed it away with a lingering caress on her cheek.

“That was… that was,” she said.

“You’re still using words.”

“So are you.”

His hand went from her cheek to her neck, around a breast, around the waist to tug her a little closer to him. Then, tentative, between her legs. “Really?” Marathon sex. She’d never had marathon sex – not quite like that.

“Are you game?”

“Hmm.” She stretched. “I don’t know.”

“Only one way to make sure.”

She was game.

 

The sky was getting a bit lighter when Chloe slowly swam back to awareness. She vaguely remembered falling asleep, exhausted, and Lucifer kissing her forehead and throwing the soft sheet back over her. She stretched under the silk and her limbs only met a cold, empty bed. She blinked her eyes open and listened. No soft piano, no kitchen noise. A soft tinkling, though. Maybe he was drinking – he always seemed to be.

She considered joining him, but then again getting out of bed seemed a bit extreme at the moment… on the other hand, her bladder would not let her go back to sleep now she was (more or less) awake. She dragged herself to the restroom, and then followed the little clinking sounds. They came from the bathroom.

He was hunched in the tub, slightly shivering and making the little sea of ice cubes knock against the sides of the bathtub.

“Lucifer?” He raised her head a little. He looked almost blue. “Lucifer, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, probably because he was clenching his jaw so hard he couldn’t speak; and she plunged her hand into the freezing water to unplug the bath before turning on the shower.

“Are you insane?” She stepped into the tub with him. “Come on, sit up, get moving; a hot shower first and then bed with a warm drink.”

He unfolded slowly, and when she touched his skin she wondered how he could still be alert, maybe even alive. It looked like he’d raided the ice cube machine from Lux to fill his bath and had jumped straight in. Maybe she should consider taking him to a hospital, but knowing him he’d probably balk – not that he was in any state to protest, to be honest. The warm water – she didn’t dare turn it up too hot to begin with – sluiced over them, and she rubbed his skin. The scars on his back looked particularly angry and red, surrounded by cold white skin as they were. She skirted them, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable.

When the remaining ice cubes had melted down, she plugged the bath again and ran a warm bath, and he finally leaned back on her, resting his head on her shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry you. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

“What were you trying to do anyway? Was it that bad you had to kill yourself in an ice bath?”

Little by little, his shivering stopped. It was pretty amazing he’d actually _been_ shivering instead of simply shutting down, really. His eyes closed. “Nope. Not that bad.”

“Oh thanks, I feel so much better now.” He turned his head to kiss her neck right where the water lapped. “Oh, all right.” He _was_ disconcertingly cute, sometimes. His unexpected little pecks in particular – not what you’d expect from mister I’ve slept with all of LA, lord of the one-night stands and sir an orgy a day keeps the doctor away.

But then again, since they’d cleared the air, he’d surprised her quite often – although the ice bath of death was not as pleasant as watching him and Trixie playing with Ginger.

“Promise me you won’t kill yourself, please.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“What am I supposed to think, then?” He shifted a bit, and she felt the rough skin of his scars catch a bit against hers. Yet another thing on which he wouldn’t give her any clear explanation.

“I promise I won’t try to kill myself as long as you’re here.”

“Not quite what I asked.”

“Why would you care what happens to me after your death?”

“This… this is a very gloomy conversation.” She wrapped an arm around his side, and he froze when she rested her hand on his navel. When she simply left it there, unmoving, he relaxed. Strange. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Hm? No. You?”

“I’m fine. Nicely sore. Ready to go back to bed?” He didn’t answer. “Just to sleep.” He was all warmed up now, pliant and relaxed and drowsy against her. It was strange, but… well, she wouldn’t complain. Maybe in the (proper) morning she’d get him to see a doctor, though.

“Mm. Sleep.”

“I’ve exhausted you.” She felt quite proud of that, to be honest.

“You have.”

They bundled up in soft, fluffy towels and she smiled at his hair, curling every which way and making him all disgruntled when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He ran his fingers through it without any result, of course.

Oddly, he rummaged into a drawer and extracted pj bottoms that he put on before curling around his pillow. She poked him and he caught her hand without even opening his eyes, and fell asleep still holding it.

Cute.

 

To her relief, nothing much changed after that. He wasn’t even pestering her for sex, although she didn’t think he was looking for it elsewhere. In fact, it was almost worrying – she was always initiating, he never seemed very enthusiastic about the idea, and yet once started he only stopped until she was bobbing gently on a sea of happy floaty goodness. But him… it didn’t seem to do him any good, and after a month he was almost downright avoiding it.

Fed up, she cornered him one weekend when Dan had Trixie. He was sitting on the sand with Ginger’s head on his lap, scratching behind her ears and looking out over the ocean. Chloe sat next to him, hoping he wouldn’t dare disturb the sleepy dog (yes, he was that much of a sap with her, and it never ceased to amuse her).

“Why don’t you like sex with me?”

The scratching stopped for a few seconds, then resumed, very regular and precise and unnatural. “I don’t not like sex with you.”

“You avoid it.”

“What?”

“I feel you just don’t want to have sex with me, that it’s not good for you. This thing, it’s only been a few weeks and already you seem, I don’t know, bored. I’d like to know what it is you need, what you feel is lacking.” He didn’t answer. Did he think she was enjoying this conversation? “Lucifer – ”

“I’m not bored. You don’t need to change anything. I’m just… tired?”

“Yeah, pull the other one.”

“Detective…”

“And don’t you detective me, if you want more distance just say it. Use your words.”

“I don’t. I, er. It’s not. I. Not you.”

“Are you trying to give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech?”

He didn’t answer, and then she couldn’t take his silence anymore. She stood up, dusted the sand from her jeans, and went back inside. She deserved better than that, and if he couldn’t man up and talk she wouldn’t wait for him to get his act together.

He didn’t come back in. She heard him open the door for Ginger then close it, and then his car left. He’d taken his shoes, but left a little box by the door. She put it on a shelf and forgot about it. Tried to. Then opened it before going to bed, and it it there was a soft leather collar for the dog, with a little silver tag with “Ginger” engraved on one side, and both her phone number and Lucifer’s on the other.

That night, she let Ginger jump up on her bed and hid her face in her fur all night long.

 

She’d thought he’d pop back at the station, send a text, ask about the dog. She’d thought he’d go talk it out with Linda, and then come back to her and explain. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

And so, she decided to hunt him down on a weekend a few weeks after … their breakup? Had they even been together? She had a hard time associating the words “couple” or “boyfriend” with him, but wasn’t that what she’d been trying to do?

First, she drove her daughter to a sleepover at a friend’s, and Trixie was… relentless. “Mommy, when is Lucifer coming to cook breakfast? He hasn’t come in a looong time!” A beat. “Mommy, is Lucifer angry with me?” Another pause. “Ginger misses him, mommy.” What could she answer?

She sneaked into the penthouse elevator and managed to avoid Maze and Lucifer himself. She caught a glimpse of him leaning against the bar, tumbler in hand and a very pretty woman trying to get his attention at his side. He didn’t seem very interested. She took a deep breath as the doors closed, and vowed to get some answers tonight.

It didn’t look good answer-wise, really. His library looked like a hurricane had gone through it, there even were a few scrolls here and there on the floor. He’d even taken notes, but not in any language she could decipher. Something was bothering him, and in typical Morningstar fashion he wouldn’t open about about it and ask for help. Hah.

“Hello,” a deep voice said. She jumped.

“Oh, hi. Thought I was alone up here.” And she hadn’t heard the elevator or even the stairs door open and close.

“I was dozing on the balcony. Are you doing some research?”

“Er, no, it was all looking like that when I came in.” And so you should have seen it too, Amenadiel.

“Hm. Oh, those are nasty.”

“What is?”

“Those curses.”

“Curses?”

“Yeah. Are you planning on _forcing_ Lucifer to be faithful to you? You really shouldn’t play with what you don’t understand.” He frowned a bit at her.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, and I can’t even read these texts, and also you’re starting to creep me out.” What was he on about? Where had he come from? Was there another entrance apart from the elevator and the stairs, an entrance that she didn’t know about?

“Can’t you people translate with your phones these days?”

“Not… what is it, Sumerian?”

“You can recognize Sumerian?”

“Hidden depths. Layers.” Also, you are shady, mister.

“Hm.” He scanned Lucifer’s notes, his eyebrows slowly creeping up his forehead. “Ah. Hm. I see. Uh. Really?” He kept on making little surprised noises, until when he read the last page his mouth opened soundlessly.

“What?”

“How are things with my brother?”

“Things?”

“You know. Your…” he waved his hand. “Thing.”

“There’s no ‘thing’ anymore.”

He looked back down at the notes. “Yeah. Not surprised.”

They both turned their heads when the elevator opened and Lucifer stalked out. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw them. “Going through my things, brother?”

“They’re here for everyone to see.”

“You hadn’t been invited. Hello, Detective.” He went to the bar and rummaged behind it, busying himself with pouring a drink, swirling it, sipping it and generally avoiding looking in their direction.

“You should tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

“No.”

“Then I will.”

“Tell me what?”

“No you won’t.”

“Chloe, Lucifer is – ” and then they were wrestling on the floor.

“Seriously?” She grabbed a thick wrist, tugged a shoulder, considered smashing a bar stool over their heads.

Amenadiel finally put his brother in a headlock. “You know you can’t fight properly when she’s here.” Uh? “Just… talk, will you?”

“Go away, you oaf.”

He released him, stood up and looked around. “At least this time we didn’t do too much damage. Chloe, Lucifer.” He nodded at them and when the elevator doors closed on him, she held out her hand to haul him up from the floor.

“So what is it you’re not telling me? Your brother went on about curses of all things.”

“He’s right, for once. I don’t really want to talk about any of it. Did you need anything?” He retreated to the bar again, but she followed him.

“Should I go ask Amenadiel?”

“No! No.”

“Is it related to the sex thing?”

He sighed, eyes lost in the pale amber color of his drink. “Sex. Sex is… not good right now.”

“Not good? Not good how? Have you seen a doctor?”

“They wouldn’t be able to do anything. It’s a curse, and I know you don’t want to believe in these things, but here it is.”

“So I should believe that you’re the devil, and that the devil is cursed?”

“Actually, if you did believe I am the devil, it would solve the problem.”

“I’m trying to find what this all means in normal human terms, but really I’m lost here.”

“There are no normal human terms. I am not a normal human, which you refuse to accept. So that’s it.” He tried to walk past her but she caught his wrist.

“If you don’t want to do sex, then we won’t. It’s not a problem.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn’t. You don’t want to, or you can’t, and so we won’t.”

“But I do want to.”

“Do you want me to come with you to an appointment?”

“There is no cure. There will be no appointment. Nothing can be done. Just… let me go.” He tried to tug his hand away, but she resisted him.

“Okay. What do you think the… curse is? Do you know who did this?”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I am. That’s why I’m good at my job.” He smiled a little at that.

He led them to the sofa and sat there, twining his fingers with hers. “From what I understand, it’s actually a curse within a curse. I can only find release with someone, ah. You, and also with someone who truly knows me.”

“And don’t I know you?” Wait. “Is it because I don’t believe the devil thing?” He nodded. “Is it painful?”

“Why do you think I took an ice bath?”

“Oh. My. God.”

“I suspect my mother, in fact. She’s big on revenge.”

“But there’s one problem.”

“Only one?”

“Can you prove me you’re whoever you say you are?”

“Well, since you never tested my blood there went the easy way.”

“And what’s the hard way?”

“No.”

“Lucifer.”

“No. I refuse.”

“Why?”

“I could show you, but it’s too dangerous. You’d go insane, and I won’t do that. No, and that’s final.”

“No it’s not.” She pulled on his hand as she got on her knees on the couch. “Come here.” He didn’t really want to, she could tell; or rather – he was afraid to. She kissed him anyway, and he kissed her back, and when he tried to back away she sat on his lap. “Show me.”

“No.”

“I’m going to keep kissing you until you do.”

“I won’t.”

“You said it yourself: I’m stubborn.”

“So am I.”

“I can out-stubborn a 10 year old child, mister. You’re doomed.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “Yes, I am.” And then he twisted and turned and she found herself flat on her back on the sofa, his body blanketing her and his dark eyes drowning in hers, or maybe it was the other way around. “I don’t care anymore,” he whispered in her hair.

He’d show her. He’d show her whatever it was that he didn’t want to show her, and hopefully it would all go well – after all, Amenadiel had told him to, he mustn’t have thought it would make her lose her mind. He’d show her and she’d truly know him or whatever and then… she suspected it all was some weird mental hangup and then it would all be fine. Oh, those weeks, so many weeks without his hands, his mouth, his voice in he ear… she’d missed it so. “Show me.” She felt him shake his head against her shoulder as he was mouthing down her neck, opening her blouse and kissing her collarbone, her sternum. “Show me.” He wouldn’t but he should and she’d make him, and it would be well. It would be well.

Now she was paying attention, trying not to drown in his smell and warmth and hands – she could feel it. Hear it. There was a sense of urgency in his touch, his breathing more like pained hitches than sounds of need and desire; and she realized that he was trying to overwhelm her with sensations so she’d forget about it, so she’d stop asking. As he’d done before so she would not get what was going on. And to think she’d believed that he did have such stamina and control, that he just could wait that long, that he just could wait for her to be so lost in her body she would not notice what was happening, or rather not happening, with him.

He’d opened her jeans and tugged them down, and now his fingers were creeping closer, closer – “you’re trying to distract me,” she said in his ear.

“Not trying hard enough, clearly,” and oh. Maybe she could let him distract her just for a little while, maybe she could let go of her goal for a bit – he was good at it, so good. Her legs were trapped in her pants and he was pinning her down with his body and one of her wrist was caught in a vise-like grip, and she couldn’t do anything, anything but let him play her. Nothing, there was nothing but her – he listened to her every gasp and kissed her neck every time she turned her head to the side and really, it almost felt like he was following her lead, like it was the best kind of fantasy come true. There, almost there – her one free hand had crept under his shirt, around his waist, and his skin was baby-soft and delicate until she reached his scars just when she got _there_ – and she dug her nails into him, head thrown back and no air left in her lungs at all.

He kept his palm over her, unmoving, warm and comforting right where she was still too sensitive. She could feel his hips twitching a little, the hot hard line of him against her leg. She moved it a little and he hissed. “Show me.”

“You’d make a surprisingly great torturer in hell, you know.”

She withdrew her hand back from under his shirt, and given the state of her nails she’d made him bleed. “Oops.”

He only raised his eyebrows at the sight. “What do you want, now?” She opened her mouth but he cut her off. “Apart from that.”

“Bed. I want more room.”

He let his fingers linger and slide against her as he got his hand out of her underwear – it was probably all destroyed now, and the thought made her smile. She shuddered at the sensation, and he looked a little smug. She’d let it slide this time, it was deserved. She finished removing her pants and her underwear which, yes, was a torn, wet mess now; and walked to his room, dragging him along. She ditched his jacket on an armchair, his shirt – with a few blood stains – on the floor, started on his belt and his fly, brushing him not so accidentally. She knelt at his feet, dragging his clothes with her. His eyes were wide and almost surprised as she urged him to lift one foot, then the other – as she finished undressing him. She let her eyes travel from his feet, thin and very white, up his legs – a long-distance runner’s legs, the muscles long and the calves firm, his thighs well-defined. Or maybe a swimmer’s legs, she though as she looked up his chest, his wider than you’d think torso. His joints were delicate, his fingers and toes long and – she felt her cheeks heat up – agile.

And right there in front of her face, his cock – very red, angry almost; the balls heavy-looking. She could believe he was in pain, even if he didn’t want to admit it. She curled her hands around his jutting hipbones and pushed him on the bed, made him scoot back up until she could kneel comfortably between his thighs. He looked at her, silent, propped on his elbows, and she turned her head to kiss a bony knee. Then went up, up until she reached the top of his legs, and when she raised her eyes she saw his lips parted, his eyes even darker, the sheet bunched in his fists.

“Show me.” He shook his head, never looking away from her. “You will, you know.”

“No.”

“Lucifer…”

“No. You can do anything, ask me anything – anything but that.”

“You want me to believe you, and I’m trying. I really am. And if this is the only way to help you, then you have to.”

His hand suddenly shot out from behind him to grip her arm, his face dark and furious and, for once, she was afraid. Of him, or for him, or maybe both. “There is another way.”

“Okay then. What is it?”

His eyes narrowed. “I could kill you. And it would all end there.”

She couldn’t move, caught in his eyes and his hand and the rage pouring off of him. But her fear had evaporated. “You could. But you won’t.”

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you.”

“Yes.” She wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed a little, slid slowly up, then down. His eyes closed and his hand opened and he collapsed back, not breathing at all. His back arched a bit, he shuddered; then grabbed her wrist. “Stop,” he whispered.

She did. His fingers were shaking around her. “Do you want me to start again?”

His head went from side to side, eyes tightly shut. Then, “yes,” he said.

She bent forward far enough to rummage into his nightstand and get a little tube out, and now that she was closer to his face she saw his eyelashes were wet, moisture gathering at the corner of his eyes. A tear ran down his temple when he opened them just enough to watch her. She wasn’t sure he was aware he was crying, and she felt like the worst person in the world, ever. Like a torturer, as he’d said. What was she doing? Was she making a horrible mistake? Was she toying with him like the worst sadist ever? She hesitated, hovering above him.

“Go on,” he breathed out. “Go on.”

“You can stop it.”

“No. But it’s a good way to go.” He smiled, the bastard. He smiled, and there were little wet stains on the pillow he’d dragged under his head.

“You’re not going anywhere.” And she moved down the bed a little and breathed on him, pushed his legs further apart, kissed the soft white skin on the inside of his thighs. Bit him a little. She uncapped the tube and poured some on her fingers and when they started creeping behind his balls – up, up until she could circle, circle and dip just the tip of her index – she went down on him and started licking and sucking and running her tongue under and over and all around. In and out, up and down; slowly getting more and more in each and every time, and then crooked two fingers a little. He jumped on her tongue and his stomach muscles contracted hard as steel and she thought the temperature went up suddenly as he let a short, cut-off scream out. She could hear him panting as if he could not get enough air, almost hyperventilating, and she twisted her fingers again, and again, and again.

Chloe looked up then and almost screamed herself. His eyes were open and red, burning red, devil red. His entire body sort of flickered a few times between his usual pale skin and a terrifying, blood-colored, skinless form before settling back on what she was used to, and he flung an arm over his face. Belatedly, she took her hands away from him. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept gasping out.

“Don’t be.” Was this it? She didn’t feel like running away screaming or hitting her head against a wall until she bled or anything like that. Scary, yes. Afraid of him, not really. Her palm glided over his sweaty skin as she moved up the bed to straddle his waist, and she realized she’d never seen him sweat before. She tried to remove his arm but he resisted her. “Lucifer.”

“Don’t look at me.”

“Too late.” But his arm didn’t budge. “I’m fine, you’re fine, now please talk to me.” After a while, he let his arm fall back to the pillow, his face turned away from hers. “Now open your eyes. I know they’re red, it’s fine.”

Finally, finally, they fluttered open and he looked back at her, dark red embers behind the brown she was used to. “I didn’t mean to,” he said.

“I know. No harm done.” She smiled when fingers tentatively crept up her thigh, and she caught them and squeezed them. “Feeling better?” He didn’t answer, probably still shell-shocked. She took her time to lower her lips to his, to kiss him. Kiss the devil, huh. It didn’t feel as strange as it should. He didn’t react for a few seconds, then kissed her back, unsure.

“You’re one of a kind, Chloe Decker.” A hand combed through her hair, gently untangling a few knots on its way.

“I hope it’s a good thing.”

“It is.”

And she enjoyed the quiet between them in this moment, as outside the sky was very dark and only the far away sounds of cars driving by floated up to them; his eyes glowing like a banked fire in their little corner of the world, up there above it all. “I have so many questions.”

“I only have one.”

“What is it?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Well, I don’t like leaving things unfinished.” She wiggled a bit, felt he was still hard, still hot. “And really. Why would I be afraid of a guy I’ve seen Ginger drool on?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

His little disgusted, prissy face made her laugh so hard she almost fell from the bed, and he caught her and resettled her, and – now, she thought. So she took him in her hand again and slowly sat on him, holding his eyes all the while, unblinking both. And then she started moving, moving; and he moved with her, one had on her hip and the other cupping her nape as she bent forward, more and more, until her forearms framed his head and her hair was all around them and he was the only thing she could see and she was the only thing he could see.

Her thighs were burning, the tension was building up in her; almost there, almost there. Once again, she felt the air become hotter around them, he was almost too warm inside her, but – it wasn’t happening, she realized. Something else was wrong. He sat up violently, taking her up with him, gripping her waist and hiding his face in her neck. She looked up at the ceiling in horror as his gasps turned into almost sobs, painful and desperate and she didn’t know what else she could do. He lifted his head and his eyes went from reddish brown to a pure, blinding white as one of his hands skimmed up her side to caress her breast, gentle and soft and tender and such a contrast to everything else – she felt her fingers dig into his shoulderblades as she arched her back and her eyes squeezed shut and everything disappeared around her for a few moments out of time.

 

Chloe’s eyes opened on a half-destroyed room. The window panes had exploded outwards, the furniture was upside down and a soft wind was stirring the air around them. The dim early morning light was enough to see him out cold next to her, features relaxed as she hadn’t seen them in a long time, she realized. He’d never looked that peaceful sleeping next to her before, certainly. There were dark stains on the bedsheets, but she decided not to look too closely at them. She watched the sky get bluer as he breathed deep and slow beside her, trying to process it all. She wasn’t sure she could. Something tickled her ear and she brushed it away.

How did these things happen? And anyway, having the devil as a boyfriend was all well and good but she also had a dog waiting for her at home, even if the neighbor would let her out in the morning; and a daughter to pick up in the early afternoon; and all the everyday things that would still fill her life. She needed to get up, have a long, hot shower and get on with her life. Red eyes or no – well, she’d certainly have them herself today. Had she even slept?

There was a rustling next to her and she turned and propped herself on an elbow. “Morning,” she said. He pouted a bit, not opening his eyes. “You seem better,” she added. She put her hand over his soft cock, quiescent and curling on his thigh, gave it a soft stroke.

“Ow.” He swatted her hand away.

“Do you want me to kiss it better?” He looked at her then, appalled. She grinned. “So, you seem all fixed.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to have sex right now. I’m worried.”

“Aw, poor ickle devil, his cock is broken – aah!” He tackled her and they ended up wrestling on the bed, him trying to catch her, her slithering out from under him again and again. She finally managed to turn the tables on him and pin his wrists on the mattress. “Hah. I win.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m good right where I am.”

Playful again, she thought. Happy, carefree. And then a bit disgruntled as he wiggled his shoulders and gently tugged a hand free to remove something from under him. “Huh.” He frowned at the small down feather.

“Ah, yeah. Think some got in through the windows. What happened, by the way?”

He looked around. “I don’t know. Will have to call workers to get it fixed.”

“You don’t seem concerned.” He shrugged. “And your eyes turned white right there at the end.”

“Yes, well, if I rolled my eyes at you as often as you do at me you would find this pretty normal.”

“No, I mean, one minute they were burning red, then wham, it’s all white light. And exploding windows.”

He sat up. “White light?”

“Yes. It was… unexpected.”

“Contrary to everything else, I’m sure.” Well, when you put it that way, Lucifer. His palm gently folded around her cheek, pulling her forward until he could kiss her lightly. “I don’t know why you’re still here. How your human mind can cope with all this.”

“Most of the time you’re not very satanic. Or angelic, for that matter. And the rest, well. I guess it’s refreshing.”

“Yes, I’m sure the douche was extremely boring. Right until… ouch!” He rubbed his side.

“At least he wasn’t as _cocky_ as you are.”

He stared at her. “Seriously?” She gave him her best butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth-and-also-I’m-the-best smile, a wide, closed lips one with a little satisfied nod that she’d probably stolen from her mother.

“We could do with a shower.” She slid a finger down his chest.

“Together?”

“Together.”

He smiled. “And then breakfast?”

She hummed. They stood up, and he walked to the window, looking outside at the sky. “Lucifer?”

“This was plated glass.”

“No. I mean, yes, but. Lucifer.”

“What?” He looked over his shoulder.

“Look.”

He turned around, and went to stand beside her. On the sheets, a bit twisted after their tussle but still very recognizable, two wings were drawn in blood, a few feathers still stuck here and there. “Oh,” he said.

And then he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, the working title of this was "the cursed cock story".  
> Yes.  
> I guess I needed something lighter in topic than my latest one.


End file.
